


Should We Call it Getting Older?

by makingitwork



Series: Bughead Prompts [36]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: AU, Adultery, Age Difference, Divorce, F/M, Flirting, Happy Ending, Unhappy marriage, baby sitter jughead, betty is married to an OC douche bag, bughead - Freeform, college student jughead, mom betty, not between bughead, older betty, pining Jughead, pining betty, preslash, single mom betty, younger jughead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-30 09:39:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15749085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makingitwork/pseuds/makingitwork
Summary: Betty's hires a babysitter to take care of her daughter for the evening.When he arrives, he's...not quite what she expected.





	Should We Call it Getting Older?

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't seen a lot of age difference tropes this way around! So I hope you
> 
> Enjoy!

When Betty turns thirty-five, she regrets a lot. 

Not that she isn't happy, because- because of course she is. She has the most wonderful little girl, and she's finally weaned her off breastmilk. She has a house, and a nice job editing from home. She has a husband and all the movie channels. She-she has her health and her stomach is finally flat again now that all the baby weight is gone. She has friends who love and care about her, and a sister who calls every week. She's  _happy,_ she tells herself. 

But once she turns thirty-five, it starts to sound a lot more like a lie. 

Jeffrey comes home later and later and she doesn't ever ask him where he's been. She's afraid she knows the answer. She wonders when she fell out of love with him. She wonders when he fell out of love with her. She stares in the mirror sometimes and pulls back the relatively taut skin of her forehead and wonders if he doesn't find her attractive. Veronica always slams her right out of it; gushing about how beautiful Betty is. But Betty's not so sure. And that's when she starts to regret. She regrets having lived a life so...normal. Of marrying her high school sweetheart, of having a child right on schedule, of falling into the predicable job and living on a predictable street in a predictably lovely neighbourhood. 

It's all so saccharine she hates it sometimes. 

She hunches in on herself, small and stranded, as Amy babbles at her from the highchair. Betty looks down at her nails; vibrantly pink after Veronica's lavished attention on them. Nails don't age, do they? Hers look just the same as they did when she was at college. "You need to kick him out." Veronica says, cooing at Amy as she making airplane sounds. Betty watches as Amy munches away, little face beaming and red. "You need to kick out that deadbeat. Yes you do, yes you do," she croons, scrunching her nose to make Amy laugh. 

Betty stares at the table some more. 

"I could get you the house, you know that. Alimony and everything, you wouldn't have to worry about a thing." Her friend continues, and Betty knows she's right. Veronica is the best goddamn lawyer in the state and Betty's witnessed first hand how Veronica tears people down with her words. She can get the most hardened clients to buckle at the knee. She's got such passion for her job. Betty thinks about typing away at other people's articles and wonders what life might have been like had she only done something other than her mother's dream. "B," Veronica's voice draws her back into the present, and she finds those opal orbs locked on her. There's concern written into every line of her face. "You need a break." She says decisively, and Betty shakes her head reflexively. 

"No, no, I don't," she mutters, massaging her temples. "I'm fine. We're all fine, V, I promise-"

"I'm getting a baby sitter," Veronica continues blithely, ignoring her friend, as she gets out her phone. Amy snuffles at the lack of attention, so Betty reaches out to tickle her neck. "And tomorrow night, we can do whatever you want." 

What would she like to do? The thought of nightclubs makes her wince, of spending money or seeing other people being happy and living their lives to the fullest- she doesn't want any of that. What does she want to do? The thought comes to her, unbidden, and she smiles a little. "Maybe," she begins shyly, "maybe just a hot bath and binging Stranger Things. I've been wanting to watch the second season for ages, but I've been so busy." She glances up at Veronica, who's smiling at her victoriously. 

"I got you, girl," she says. "You know my Westwood apartment? It's yours tomorrow. You and Amy come over. The babysitter will arrive; he comes highly recommended from all my coworkers. You lie in my magnificent bed, watch Netflix on my gigantic television and soak in the tub. There's a television in the bathroom as well, if you want. And let's not forget-" her voice drops into a tempting whisper. "We've got the jet stream massage option in that apartment." 

Betty laughs, brushing her hair behind her ear. "That sounds good," She confesses, a little bit excited. 

 

Veronica and Archie make a lot of money, Betty's never been envious of that. She knows that money won't fill the hole she has in her life, but she does feel a little awed when she walks into Veronica's apartment. It's  _lavish,_ gorgeously decorated with not an expense spared on the upmost comfort. Amy's been good all day, and Betty unpacks all the things she'll need. A little portable crib, her bottle, nappies and a little washtub just in case. Talcum powder and pyjamas and her dummy, heaps of baby foot and softened fruit and her portable mobile. It's everything the babysitter could possibly need and she sets it all on the coffee table. 

Amy makes grabby hands up at her, and Betty feels her heart squeeze fondly. She isn't sure how she'd be coping at all without her darling, and she lifts her baby up into her arms carefully, pressing a kiss to her forehead as she meanders around the apartment. Two bedrooms; the master is hers tonight and the bathroom is gorgeous and seems to glitter under the lights. A glance at her watch tells her it's almost seven; when the babysitter is meant to arrive, so she starts to run her bath and sets up the television in the bathroom and the bedroom to Netflix. Amy plays with her hair, tugging at the strands ineffectually as Betty covers the bed in all her favourite junk food that Veronica had stocked for her in the kitchen. She's so lucky to have a best friend as brilliant as her. 

At seven on the dot, the doorbell rings. 

Betty shakes her head in mild amusement as she sets Amy down gently in her carrier. Trust Veronica to have the best babysitting service in town when she doesn't even have any kids. She tugs open the door and freezes. 

A young man, and she means  _young_ is standing there. He's wearing a college sweater but she just knows he's only eighteen. He's fresh faced in a way that indicates he's just left High school. He's got hair like midnight and the most brilliant green eyes she's ever seen. The pale expanse of his neck dips into the burgundy sweater and a pair of deliciously tight black jeans. He's got a backpack over one shoulder and a crooked grin and her knees nearly buckle.  _Holy crap_ she thinks. She's never been so carnally attracted to someone in her entire life, and he's so young. She flusters, shaking the thoughts out of her head. What she would do for those lips on her skin, to feel what that those thick locks are like between her fingers. What's wrong with her? She clearly hasn't had sex in long enough. 

"Miss Cooper?" He asks, in a voice that should be outlawed it's so sexy. "I'm the babysitter," he grins again, and she has to clutch the door for support. 

"Yes! Yes, of course, come on through," she gestures him in, and closes the door, trying to fan her cheeks. When she turns around, he's already shucked his backpack and is making silly faces at Amy who's giggling up at him. Betty rushes over. "This is Amy," 

"Hello Amy," he says politely, before swiping a hand through his luscious hair and offering another smile. "I'm Jughead. I've got a baby sister, so don't worry, I'm not a novice," he laughs a little and Betty's lips part in pure amazement at his effortless beauty. She's so...she's hot at just the thought of him. 

She watches as Amy grabs one of Jughead's fingers in her tiny fist, and he sits down on the sofa so she can have a better grip. "I'm Betty, Jughead. I'll be here the whole night just..." she motions to the bedroom. "If you need me-"

"Sure," he nods, "I'll try not to. You want to relax, right?" 

"Yeah," she sighs, shoulders slumping. "I really do." 

His eyes are burning with intensity. He's looking up at her like he really understands. "Please," he gestures to the bedroom, voice soft. "Leave it to me." 

She practically flees to the safety of the bedroom. Once her heartbeat's under control, she eases into her steaming hot bath and starts on her favourite show. As the scents of lavender and soap sink into her pink-flushed skin, she comes to terms with the introduction of a new female character, and her instant attraction to the barely-a-man babysitter just outside. The massage functions ease into her shoulders and she finds herself dazing away from the screen. She wonders if she ever felt this level of attraction to Jeffrey. If she did, she certainly can't remember it. Oh god, she's one of those cougars now. Brilliant. That's what she's become and she's barely hit her midlife crisis. 

The lulling comfort of the heat and the low volume of the show send her towards the cusp of sleep, and just before she drifts off completely she shrieks at the sight of a spider on the other side of the glass. 

She immediately feels like an idiot, but her humiliation is increased ten fold when Jughead appears in the doorway; wide eyed. "Are you okay?" He manages, glancing around the bathroom like he'll find an intruder. When he realises there's nothing, his eyes seem to realise that Betty's in the bathtub. Naked. She flushes beet red when his eyes linger over her exposed skin, and she's not sure whether she hates or loves that the bubbles on the surface hide her body from his gaze. "Oh I- shit, sorry-" he manages, stumbling as his eyes skirt away from her. "I- you screamed, I was- are you okay?" He asks, staring determinedly at the towel rack. 

"It was a-" she brings a wet hand up to push a darkened strand out of her face, "a spider but I-" she laughs a little, "I'm sorry to have frightened you." 

"No, no, it's fine." He manages, ducking his head and looking a little shy. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I'll just-" he jabs his finger in the direction of the door. "I'm about to finish feeding Amy up and then put her to sleep. Is that alright?" 

"That's fine." She assures, stumbling in the disbelief that they're having this conversation when she's naked in the bathtub. He scurries out and she switches Stranger Things over for a show she's already watched. She's not focusing on it anyway. 

Her skin feels soft as satin as she finishes up and dries her hair. She wraps herself in a fluffy white bathrobe and can't help but bite her lip in delight at the way Jughead's eyes had lingered on her. The way his pupils had blown. He finds her attractive, she's fairly certain. It's been a while since anyone's looked at her like that. A rather large part of her wants to go out into the living room and kiss him. But she thinks of Jeffrey. Yes, he's probably cheating on her but just because he is doesn't mean she will. So she sits on the bed and rewatches the Good Place whilst munching away on chocolate. 

She drifts off at some point because she's awoken during one of Michael's monologues with a longing for tea. She remembers seeing some in the cupboard and gets to her feet. She opens the bedroom door and listens, but everything sounds silent. Maybe Jughead's asleep. She tightens her bathrobe and pads outside. The living room is lit with the warm glow of a lamp and the television is playing something on mute. Amy is asleep in her crib right beside the armchair that Jughead is currently asleep on. His feet are propped up on the table and his hands are resting on his stomach. He looks soft and comfortable and it's difficult to tear her eyes away. 

She sets about making some lemon tea as quietly as she can, the smell of it soothing her. 

When she's done, she clutches the mug in her hands, letting the warmth seep into her skin, and she turns around just in time to see Jughead's eyes flutter open. 

He has ludicrously long eyelashes for a man, she thinks distantly, as he takes her in. She can notice them from across the room. "Holy shit," he whispers, and she swallows thickly. "You're- you're so beautiful." His voice is hoarse with sleep and she's not sure he's totally awake yet because that's...that's... "I'm so sorry," he murmurs, lifting his feet and shaking his head. "That was completely inappropriate. I-"

"It's okay," she hurries to soothe him, but he looks to be in genuine distress. "It's nice to hear, honestly." She steps forward, contemplating taking a seat on the couch. "It's not often I get that anymore." 

He stares at her, elbows resting on his knees and hands clasped in front of him. He stares at her with all the intensity of youth and shakes his head in disbelief. "Your husband is blind or a fool." 

That makes her smile, and she takes a gentle seat on the couch, resting the cup on her knee. "So, Jughead, you're in college?" She asks, going for safe territory because she's afraid to reciprocate. She could write sonnets, she thinks, about his cheek bones. 

"Uh yeah," he nods, head bobbing. "I wanna be a writer, hopefully. I'm taking english with some creative writing classes." 

"A writer?" She hums, he does seem the brooding type. "I'm an editor, actually."

"Oh woah, really?" He nods, like he's really interested in her. "Why'd you become an editor?" 

"I-" she cuts herself off when she realises she's about to say  _It's what I always wanted_ because that's not true. She takes a deep sip of her tea and tries not to look so forlorn. "I don't know, really. I wish I hadn't." Jughead immediately looks concerned and she wonders if he knows how expressive he is. "No, no, I just- I liked it at first, I think. I must have done. But...well, you've got your whole life ahead of you. Hopefully you're doing what you love."

He shoots her a look like she's kidding, before his face stiffens in realisation. "Betty," he begins in a low, serious voice. "You're...I mean..." he laughs a little in disbelief. "You're kidding, right? You're not old, you're...I mean, you look barely thirty. You're acting like you can't change it. If you don't like your job, why don't you quit?" 

"Quit?" She echoes uncertainly, but he nods like it's the easiest thing in the world. 

"Yeah. A woman like you, smart and sophisticated, and that's only the bare minimum of what Miss Lodge told me, the world is your oyster. I mean- there are a ton of mature students in my classes, you could go to night school I mean I'm-" he gestured to himself, "I'm happy to babysit for free if you need. Amy is an angel, really. Plus, I look after my sister most nights anyway and-"

"Jughead," she cuts him off, a bemused smile on her face. "This is all very sweet, honestly, but you don't have to-"

He raises a hand to cut her off. "You deserve to be happy." He says insistently. His eyes are boring into hers and he's leaning so far forward in his seat that she can feel her body respond in kind. She leans into him, and feels the cover of her bathrobe slip slightly, showing the swell of her breasts. She watches as his eyes stray down immediately, captivated by the sight of her. She resists the urge to smile. Shit. She's never felt so  _desired._ With considerable effort, he brings his eyes back to her face and tries to regroup. "Uh- what I mean is, just because you have a baby, or your husband sucks or you think you're old, you're-you're not. No one's ever too old for anything. Never too old to change. You..." he shakes his head a little, as if in wonder. "Someone as beautiful as you, probably more so on the inside, you deserve the world. And you shouldn't..." he makes a small, frustrated noise. "You shouldn't rest until you have it in your hand." 

She gazes at him in awe. She pictures night school and her brain nearly trips over itself in the possibilities of what she could study. She always liked journalism. But she also liked art and she wonders whether maybe she could ever fill a canvas. Could she really? Could it all happen? Could she get the divorce? Could she be a single mother and go to night school and change her life? It seems so insane, but...but there's a teenager in front of her who's making her believe it could all be real. Maybe it could. Why not?  _Why not?_ She notices his eyes are again on the exposed skin of her chest and she makes no move to cover herself up. "Jughead," she whispers, and his eyes snatch up to her's guiltily. There's a faint dusting of red on his cheeks. She opens her mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. 

Whatever she doesn't say though, he seems to hear it. He slides off the chair and onto his knees before her. He reaches up carefully to take the tea out of her grasp and place it on the table as he stares up at her. He's got a few beauty marks on his jaw and her fingers itch to touch him. His hands touch her knees and it's the barest contact but she shivers under it. She leans forward and her hair; still crimped and damp, slides down over her cheeks. He tips his head up and their lips brush; barely. It sends sparks shooting down her and she slides her hands into his hair because she's petrified she might never get another chance to do so. 

It's so soft in her grasp, she fists her fingers into it and he lurches forward to firmly press their lips together. The taste of lemon, sharp and addictive spikes between them, and she can smell the lavender coming off her own skin and his hands push ever-so-slightly up her knee, but they don't dislodge the robe that covers her thighs. His groan is low and throaty and  _pure sex_ but Betty pulls away. That's her baby asleep in the crib, and a wedding ring sparkling on her finger. "Not yet," she manages, and he nods. He looks winded just from a kiss, his hair a mess and his eyes black and wanting. She's done that to him. The thought is empowering. "Not yet." 

He swallows thickly, audible in the quiet, and he nods. "I'll wait." He whispers. It sounds like a vow. 

She realises months later, after suitcases and throwing up, after text messages and court proceedings, after custody fights and Veronica's heels on hard wood floors, after her mother moves back into town and offers to take care of the baby, after enrolling in night classes, she realises that what sounded like a vow: was a vow indeed. 

He's inexperienced and completely adoring, and she worries constantly that he'll want someone his own age. But he adores every wrinkle and he massages every ache. He doesn't give a damn what people think and Jellybean and Amy talk to each other in a language that no one understands. Betty tries to push him away a few times, but he just won't budge. 

"Betty," he says, one rainy night as they lie in bed together. "I've got my whole life ahead of me. And I'm going to spend it with you." 

Well, she thinks to herself. It's going to be her thirty-sixth birthday soon, and she doesn't regret a damn thing. 

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a prompt/comment/declaration of love you beautiful people! 
> 
> MWAH MWAH x


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